Blair Moment Number 1
by Kara Sullivan
Summary: Blair doing laundry - that sounds pretty safe, doesn't it? Please note: it is not necessary to read these in order.


Title: Blair Moment #1

Summary: Blair doing the laundry - sounds pretty safe, doesn't it?

Disclaimer: They do not belong to me

**A/N: Most of my life, I have referred to anything bad or unusual happening to me as "Writing experiences". For instance, when I had my wisdom teeth removed, I used it as a writing experience... I now know what it feels like to go under general anesthesia... you get the idea. Over the years, I even did some things just so I would know what it felt like. For example, I know what it feels like to ride in the trunk of a car. :-) Okay, so I got a bit carried away there in my youth! Well, since I have been following the Sentinel, I have switched the name for this from "Writing Experiences" to "Blair Moments" (they make great copy for Blairpain).... I know what it feels like from personal experience to be rushed to the hospital in an ambulance, etc.**

**If you should happen to recognize these, you may notice that the numbering has changed. This is because the one I had originally intended to be #1 has taken on a life of its own, and it really has little resemblance left to the "Blair Moment" that spawned it. It will eventually appear here, but not as a "Blair Moment". So 2, 3 and 4 are now 1, 2 and 3. I hope that's not too confusing!**

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Thanksgiving dinner was long over, and Simon Banks and Jim Ellison lounged in the living room, pretending to watch the Rose Bowl with their eyes closed. Blair Sandburg sat hunched over the coffee table between them, one eye on the game and the other on a stack of papers he was grading. When Simon's jacket pocket began to ring, all three men jumped.

Simon grabbed his cell phone out of the pocket clumsily, still half asleep. "Banks."

Jim sat up and stretched lazily, peering over Blair's shoulder. "How're they coming, Chief?"

Blair shook his head in disgust. "You just wouldn't believe the answers some of these kids make up!"

Jim chuckled. "Got anything good for a laugh? I could use a…"

"What??" Simon's roar brought two heads around as both Jim and Blair turned to look at him with concern.

Simon had risen to his feet and was pacing back and forth, scowling fiercely at whatever the caller was saying. "Yes, sir. I know that, but today is Thanksgiving and I … No, sir. I know it's important." He sighed. "I'll be there in thirty minutes. No,sir. You don't need to call him. He's right here. I'll bring him along."

Jim and Blair looked at each other. Only one person could make Simon respond like that – the Chief of Police. Simon disconnected the call and looked at Jim and Blair apologetically.

"That was the Chief. He needs to see us down at the station, Jim. They can't find our statements from the Johnson case, and he says they need them yesterday."

Ellison stood up, ready to comply. "Chief, you'll have to let us know how the game turns out."

Blair nodded, engrossed in his paper. "I'll keep an eye on it. Hey, I'll have the pie ready when you get back."

Jim and Simon left the loft, Simon still grumbling about having to go in on a holiday. Blair barely noticed they had gone. He chuckled as he read the latest in a string of bad papers. These kids were very creative. If only they had taken as much time to study for his class as they had to think up the ridiculous ideas in these papers. He leaned back against the couch for a moment, kicking off his shoes. No Jim … no house rules. Sandburg intended to take full advantage of the temporary reprieve.

Time slipped away as Blair continued to work, and before he realized it the ball game was over. He looked up guiltily. He hadn't paid any attention to who was winning. Oh, well. The game really hadn't been all that exciting, anyway. He sat up and stretched, looking at the clock. Six o'clock, and Jim and Simon were still not back. He stood up stiffly. Time for a change of pace, before he really did fall asleep. Maybe he would do some laundry.

Quickly gathering his dirty clothes from his room, he realized he had enough room to throw in some of Jim's clothes, too. Picking up his laundry basket, he climbed the steps to Jim's bedroom. He picked some clothes out of Jim's hamper to throw in with his own, and then started back down the stairs, struggling under his laden laundry basket. Four steps from the top, his sock clad foot slipped on the runner, and the laundry basket tumbled down the stairs, scattering dirty clothing liberally over the loft. Blair struggled to regain his balance, but found himself following the basket down the stairs, mostly on his right side and back. He was pretty sure he hadn't missed any of the steps on the way down.

At the bottom, he lay still for a moment, unable to take a breath. He struggled to a sitting position, still gasping for breath. He had knocked the wind out of himself, and it was taking longer than he was comfortable with for the effect to wear off. Finally the vice that held his chest eased up, and he dragged in a deep lung full of air.

"Ow!"

He felt kind of silly, reacting out loud with no one there to hear it, but that had really, really smarted. Blair mentally took stock of any damage caused by the fall. After moving experimentally, he concluded that nothing was broken, but he knew he would be very sore for the foreseeable future. Moving slowly, he pushed himself up to his feet. Fortunately, Jim and Simon hadn't been here to witness the embarrassing incident. With any luck, they would never know.

"I still can't believe that they lost those depositions."

Blair looked up over the top of his glasses as Jim and Simon entered the loft. "Hey, guys! How did it go?"

Jim glanced over at his roommate and narrowed his eyes. "Fine, Chief. Have you been sitting there the whole time we were gone? You're still in the same spot as when we left."

Blair grinned in relief. If they hadn't noticed he'd moved, maybe he could pretend he'd been here the whole time. "Pretty much."

Simon frowned. "Tough life you've got there, Sandburg. Sitting on the couch for four hours?" He sank back down in his former place, peeling his jacket off and carelessly draping it over the back of the sofa. "So who won the game?"

Blair tried not to squirm. "Um, sorry, guys. I actually wasn't really paying attention. These papers …. " He gestured to the neat stack of papers sitting in front of him on the coffee table.

Jim shrugged and dropped down in his spot on the sofa. "So where's the pie?"

"What?" Blair looked at Ellison blankly.

"The pie. You said you'd have it ready when we got back. So where is it?"

"Oh, yeah!" Blair lurched to his feet with a surprised grunt. He hadn't expected to stiffen up this much so quickly. "Wow, guess I was sitting there longer than I thought!"

Jim watched him suspiciously. "You sure that's all it is?"

"Sure, Jim. What else could it be? Simon said it. Four hours is a long time to sit on the couch."

Blair walked stiffly into the kitchen, attempting to move naturally. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. With every step, he could feel twinges of pain shooting through his right side and down his spine.  
His right hip was pretty sore, too.

"Sandburg, what's going on?" Ellison was on his feet now, eyeing his partner closely. "You don't look too good."

Blair grinned weakly. "Hey, nothing a little exercise won't fix. Just sitting too long, that's all." He moved slowly but determinedly around the kitchen island, cutting large slices of apple pie onto dessert plates, then dipping generous portions of vanilla ice cream on top. "Here we go, apple pie ala mode!"

"Alright!" Simon rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Sounds great."

Jim watched as Blair carried the three plates of pie into the living room and set them on the coffee table. "I'll get the napkins."

He headed into the kitchen, then stopped as something unusual caught his eye. "Uh, Sandburg?"

Blair looked up quickly, wondering at the strange quality in Jim's voice. "Yeah, what's up?"

Jim leaned over the second sofa and plucked a sock from between the cushions. "What is your dirty sock doing in the sofa?"

Blair blushed. "Darn, I thought I got them all." He sighed. "Okay, fine. I can tell you're not going to let up. I had some extra time, so I decided to do some laundry. I went up to get some of your clothes and I kind of … fell down the steps."

The last part of Blair's explanation was so quiet that Jim would not have heard it without Sentinel hearing.

"What was that?" Simon, unfortunately, did not have Sentinel hearing, so he had missed the explanation.

"He fell down the stairs." Jim repeated Blair's words absently, already heading for his partner. "Are you okay? What hurts?"

Blair grinned wryly. "Mostly my pride." He raised a hand in protest and took a step back at the look in Jim's eye. "AND my right side, hip and back. But I'm sure I'm just bruised. Nothing to worry about."

Jim ghosted his fingers over Blair's side and back, then looked up with a sigh of relief. "I think you're right, Chief. It's warm, so I'm sure you are going to have some great bruises, but I think you're okay."

Simon watched from his spot on the couch. "So if the kid's okay, can we eat dessert now before it melts on your coffee table?" He pulled one of the plates toward him and picked up his fork, helping himself to a large bite of pie. "So what happened? Did you trip over something?"

Blair's face reddened further. "Not exactly," he said slowly. "I slipped on the runner on the steps."

Jim pinned him with a stern glance. "You slipped? How did you slip? Sandburg, did you have your shoes on?"

Sandburg had the grace to look away guiltily. "Well, no. You weren't home, and I didn't think it would matter for a little while, so I just kicked my shoes off. I guess my socks were a little slippery."

Jim smirked at his roommate. "House rule #47. Now you know the reason for it!"

Blair smiled in embarrassment. "I thought it was just because of the sentinel thing. You know, smelly feet?"

"Now you know!" Jim grinned, releasing his stern look. "Well, I think you'll live anyway. Let's eat dessert before it melts on my coffee table and you break house rule #88."

"88?" Blair looked puzzled as he tried to figure out which rule that was. "I don't remember an 88."

Jim grinned fully now, flopping down onto the sofa and dragging a plate toward him. "House rule # 88. No melted ice cream on the furniture! Eat up, Chief, and Happy Thanksgiving!"

Finis

**A/N: House rule # 47 may not have actually been one of Jim's, but it _was_ one of my mother's. If I had followed it, it would have hurt a lot less!**


End file.
